


More Than a Lump

by aravenwood



Series: Whumptober 2020 [20]
Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Forced Mutism, Hurt Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mute Nicky | Nicolo di Genova, Nicky | Nicolò di Genova Whump, Protective Andy | Andromache of Scythia, Protective Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Whumptober 2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27175523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aravenwood/pseuds/aravenwood
Summary: After having his throat cut, Nicky finds himself unable to speak. He's not a loud man, but the forced silence is more than a little bit frightening.Written for the Whumptober 2020 prompts "forced mutism" and disorientation".
Relationships: Andromache of Scythia & Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova & Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Series: Whumptober 2020 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947343
Comments: 32
Kudos: 515
Collections: Whumptober 2020





	More Than a Lump

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I'm discovering a running theme recently with my writing; I will have an idea but be unable to come up with a starting line I like, so I'll sit down to watch a movie. I'll get ten minutes in and suddenly the entire idea will come flooding out and I'll have to pause whatever I'm watching to get this down before my mind goes blank.
> 
> It was The Lego Batman Movie yesterday. Great movie, would recommend!
> 
> Please enjoy this fic!

Revivals are always a little disorienting, and this one is no exception. Nicky can still see stars as his eyes regain focus and he blinks furiously in an attempt to clear them. It doesn’t work. He tries again.

It doesn’t work.

He sighs. One of those, then. 

His head is still a little fuzzy. Ok, a lot fuzzy. He’s not quite sure what happened, he guesses that it must have been a quick one. But his throat hurts, more than just an ache and that feels like a big clue. Snapped neck? No, his spine would hurt but it doesn’t. Nothing else hurts.

He lifts slightly trembling fingers to his neck and immediately chokes on a cry as his fingertips come into contact with a slash across his throat that burns when he touches it. His eyes water without his consent, a mix of pain and confusion. 

These deaths are always the worst - the ones that go unremembered. They’re more frightening, more disorienting and he wishes more than anything that he could rest, just for a few minutes, just until his heart rate slows and he doesn’t want to curl up in a ball until the shaking stops. But he’s not sure where he is, and judging from the gun still clutched in one hand, he’s supposed to be fighting.

Fighting who, though? That’s the big question. 

He rubs his eyes with the hand not holding the gun and scrambles to his feet, staggering after only a step and falling against the wall. There’s blood on the wall, he notices, and wonders if it’s his or someone else’s. Judging from the fact that there’s no one else around, it has to belong to him. Or at least, he hopes that it does or there’s someone injured around here who is going to be seriously pissed to see him up and around.

“Nicky, come in. We’re just outside the main office. You on your way?” comes Andy’s voice in his ear. He frowns for a moment, unsure as to how he can be hearing her when he can’t see her. But then as his fingers fumble around his ear, he finds a small earpiece. A radio link, must be a bigger mission if they came prepared to split up.

“Nicky. Come in.”

Andy sounds a little irritated and he winces for a moment, curling his shoulders up around his ears and taking a steady breath. But then he catches himself and forces his body to relax. Adrenaline is clearly making him jumpy if he’s even nervous to hear Andy talking to him.

“Nicolo?” That’s Joe now, and rather than angry like Andy sounded he’s more concerned, his voice wavering.

He should answer, he realises. They’re looking for him. He pokes at the earpiece and finds a small button to press in order to activate it. He holds it down and opens his mouth to speak. Sorry boss, on my way. That’s what he means to say, those are the words he comes up with in his head.

But as he opens his mouth to speak, nothing comes out. 

He freezes, eyes widening, and tries again. There’s nothing, just a slight choking sound that hurts as it escapes. There’s something wrong. His hand falls away from the radio to hang limply at his side.

“Nicky? Was that you? What’s going on?” Joe asks, and Nicky can imagine the panic on his face. He wants to say something, wants to reassure Joe that he’s ok. But he can’t say anything. And he doesn’t even know if he actually is ok.

He doesn’t feel it.

“Nicky? Come on, talk to us,” Nile shouts over the radio, concerned like Joe but her voice steadier.

There’s silence for a minute as they wait for a response that he can’t give.

“Boss?” Joe finally says, his voice firmer now.

“Go.”

Nicky can’t help the relief that fills him. Joe is coming, Joe will make this better like he makes everything better because that’s just what he does, what he’s always done. When Joe is with him, everything feels easier. It feels simpler. And he needs that right now with his fear so intense that it’s a physical sensation in his chest. He doesn’t know where he is and he can’t even talk to his team, and it leaves him feeling so vulnerable that he finds himself back on the ground with his back to the wall and his knees curled against his chest.

He experimentally pokes at his throat again. Even in the space of a few minutes, the wound has healed to almost nothing and the pain has dulled. His vision is clearer now too. But it’s the inside of his throat that feels…wrong, somehow. He can’t quite place his finger on why but he guesses that it’s the same reason that he can’t say a word.

At least he can breathe, he thinks. That’s one less thing to worry about, a slow and agonising death from suffocation. That would be the icing on the cake, the thing that really makes this day a write off in his eyes. 

But even though he knows logically that this will heal and he’ll be back to talking in no time, the fear in his chest doesn’t go away. 

He hears footsteps coming his way and he tenses, fingers curling around the gun in his hand. It’s already raised and aimed down the hallway when Joe comes barrelling round the corner with his own gun raised. There’s one tense moment in which their guns are pointing at each other before realisation hits them and their weapons drop simultaneously.

“Nicky!” Joe cries and falls to his knees at Nicky’s side. “What happened? Are you ok? Are you hurt?”

His voice is so filled with fear that the kind, caring side of Nicky flies into action. He reaches a hand up to bury in Joe’s hair and pulls the other man in close, pressing Joe’s face into a bloodstained shoulder. It’s ok, he wants to say. I’m fine. Of course it doesn’t come. So instead he just strokes Joe’s back with a shaking hand and imagines himself saying those words. It does little to calm either of them.

After a long and yet not long enough minute, Joe pulls back and places a hand on Nicky’s cheek. “Nicky? Talk to me. What happened?” he says, his voice soft and kind.

Nicky sinks his teeth into his lower lip and taps his throat, then opens his mouth as if to speak. The same choking noise from before escapes.

“Those fucks, they cut your throat,” Joe hisses, his eyes narrowing dangerously. Nicky knows that expression well enough to know that he’s imagining a slow, painful death for whoever held the blade. But then, as he takes in the fear still in Nicky’s eyes, his expression softens. “How long has it been?”

Nicky shrugs.

“Give it time, Nicolo. It will come back. We just have to wait. How is your breathing?”

He takes a long, deep breath just to show that he can do it.

“Good. That’s good. Wait, I just have to…” Joe drifts off and reaches for his radio. “Hey boss, I found Nicky. He’s ok. Well, sort of. Some bastardo cut his throat and he can’t talk just yet. But he’s healing.” 

Nicky doesn’t miss the relief in his voice as he says the last part.

Andy’s reply comes through his radio. “Got it. We can handle things here, stay with him and come get us when you can.” She pauses, then continues. “And Nicky? If you find the guy who did it…make it slow.”

He offers a sloppy salute.

“He says sure thing. Sort of. See you soon,” Joe says, then offers Nicky a sly smile. “And by that she means make sure I get a shot too. He took your beautiful voice from me and now he must pay the consequences.”

Nicky snorts, then grimaces at the pain it causes. His hand rubs at his throat. Pain is good, he thinks. Pain means that it’s healing. 

His own reassurances do little to calm the tremors which wrack his body.

Joe’s jaw tightens in anger, but his expression softens as he shuffles until his body is pressed flush against Nicky’s. He wraps an arm around Nicky’s shoulders and pulls him close, letting Nicky rest his head against a muscular shoulder.

They sit like that for who knows how long, Joe talking quietly to fill the silence. Every now and again Nicky opens his mouth to test his throat but remains disappointed. He’s getting more and more nervous and he can feel Joe growing slowly more tense as time passes. Neither of them wants to consider the idea that this might be permanent, that Nicky will be forever silent. He’s quiet, sure, but his voice is important to him. It’s essential. It’s part of who he is and part of what Joe loves about him.

They’re both terrified and don’t even bother trying to hide it.

Eventually Andy and Nile join them. Neither of them says a thing, they just sit down against the opposite wall and start to clean their weapons, glancing up now and again at the pair. They’re both just as tense and clearly just as afraid, going through their own what ifs in their heads.

“What time is it?” Joe asks.

“Almost seven,” Andy answers. They’ve been here for almost an hour, just waiting. Nicky wonders how much longer they can sit here before they have to move. He wants nothing more than to stay curled here until everything is back to normal but people will be arriving soon. They should be going soon.

But then he becomes aware of the feeling in his throat, or the lack thereof. It just feels…like a throat should. Normal. Please, please be fixed, he begs.

He opens his mouth to speak.

“I love you, Joe,” he says, his voice a little weak and croaky but his voice nonetheless. He turns to Andy and Nile and he says it again. “I love you. I love you all.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
